Strangers in the Night – Revised
by Valeska Vampire Queen
Summary: Revised version. All new updates will be posted here. At nine years old Anna Valerious is a headstrong girl barred from partaking in her family's war. She believes this to be her fate until one day she is taken to the vampires' lair, a child left at the mercy of her greatest enemies.
1. Chapter One

**I started this story in – oh God – 2010 (now I feel really old), and I've never quite been satisfied with it. I've played with it so many times that it's so far from the original that I might as well just start again. Going to keep the old version up but all new chapters will be posted here. Hope everyone likes Strangers in the Night 2.0!**

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The clash of the swords echoed all the way up from the manor courtyard into Anna's room. On edge already, she started, and her needle stabbed straight into her thumb. Grimacing, she removed it with a quick tug, and watched a bead of blood well against her skin.

"Anna! For heaven's sake concentrate, girl!"

She gritted her teeth and said nothing, staring down at the stocking in her lap, and jumped again when a plump red hand slapped her across the face.

"Just look at that! You are not even trying. _Jesu_ , I never know how you manage to get your clothes into such a state, but the very least you could do is learn –"

Anna let the scolding drift over her head as she rubbed her cheek and looked down at the uneven darn she was making. Well really, who cared if the stitches were wobbly, and the darn loose? As her nurse was always pointing out, she'd only tear her stockings again anyway, so why go to all that effort?

"– I try and try but nothing I say seems to get into that thick head of yours. Are you even listening to me?"

Anna nodded, fixing her eyes attentively on her nurse's face as though she had been concentrating on every word. Unfortunately, Petronela was well used to Anna's ways and delivered another stinging slap.

"Liar! Well, if you will not even listen you can forget about going downstairs to see your brother later. You'll stay here, my girl, until every stocking in that pile is as neat as the day it was bought."

Anna stared wide-eyed at the mending basket at their feet whose contents of black woollen stockings, all in no better state than the one in her hand, threatened to topple over its sides.

"But Nurse, please, you know Papa said I might see Velkan at his training later if –"

"I do not care a fig for what your father said. Until you can learn to take care of your clothing as a young lady should, you can stay in your room. Heaven knows why you want to waste your time seeing the men at their work anyway."

With a sinking heart Anna realised that Petronela really did mean it. It wasn't fair! Her brother was finally allowed to train at sword and rifle and musket with the men, but she was stuck up here darning stockings without even a quick visit to break up the boredom. She was about to voice another protest, but at a sharp look and a raised hand from Petronela she dropped her gaze again.

Fuming, Anna stabbed her needle in and out of heels and toes for the next hour, while the muffled sounds of swords and later, gunshots drifted through the crisp autumn air. This was ridiculous. Papa had promised she could come and see them; Anna had spent most of dinner time yesterday persuading him, but Petronela didn't pay Boris Valerious any mind. Anna had complained time and again of the long afternoons sewing in silence, being made to sit straight with no crossed legs, as a lady should, but Papa had always ruffled her hair and told her she'd become used to it in time. She held in a sigh. Anna could complain about her nurse until she was blue in the face, but the truth was that Papa had hardly any time to consider his daughter, and since Petronela knew that, she took advantage at every opportunity. She only called Anna 'Princess', as was her right, in front of the other servants.

Tears of frustration grew in Anna's eyes, but as she fought to stop them falling, she caught the most welcome sound in the world. A snore. A grin spread across Anna's face as she saw her nurse lying back in her chair, her mouth wide open, fast asleep. Anna put her mending aside and rose as softly as she could. She slipped across the floor on tiptoe, reached the door, and was outside it and skipping lithely down the stairs in barely a moment. The afternoon was suddenly full of possibility.

One could reach the courtyard where the men trained through the kitchens, and Anna ran past the servants busy preparing tonight's meal like a whirlwind. Mădălina, the round-cheeked cook, tried to catch at Anna's arm as she scurried past, but missed.

"If Petronela catches you down here, Princess, on your head be it, and not mine!"

Anna ignored her as she careened down a passage and came to a stumbling halt at the open courtyard doors. An icy jolt tore through her stomach at what she saw; her brother, dressed in brand new fighting gear, his face grim with concentration as he lifted his blade to parry their father's blow, while the village men looked on approvingly.

"Velkan!" The startled cry had left her mouth before she could stop it. Anna couldn't help herself. The boy who had played in the woods with her was gone, and already he looked more than half the soldier her father had promised to make him. She'd thought Velkan would be pleased to see her: entertained some wild hope that he might even invite her to join in, but her dream vanished as Boris Valerious took advantage of his son's distraction and brought his training sword clean across his son's chest. A killing blow. Velkan was 'out', and Boris had won.

"Anna? What the bloody hell are you doing here?" The first part of the sentence was deep and sure, but by the end Velkan's voice had cracked and suddenly grown high, and she saw him colour. Boris cuffed Velkan for swearing, and turned to her, his good eye darkening with anger. Anna's heart sank. She was really in trouble now.

.:I:.

Anna kicked at the patchwork quilt until it fell to the floor, and yanked straight her nightgown from where it had tangled about her legs. That was better. A full moon, and once again she couldn't sleep. Heaven knew why, when for once even Petronela's snores were gone. The servants went home to their families for the full moon, to better protect them in case of trouble. Anna tried not to picture them around the fire, barricaded into their little cottages as Valerious Manor was shut up now. The moon was almost up, and it wouldn't be long before the werewolves arrived, sent from Dracula's lair, wherever that was, to prey on forest game and any foolish enough to leave their homes on a night like this. So Anna lay and watched the shadows play across her ceiling, and thought about her brother.

Not so long ago, Anna had been as terrified as the villagers. On full moon nights she'd run to her brother's room, half-mad with fright at the howls that echoed from the streets of Vaseria, and still ground down by grief at the loss of her mother. She'd climb into his bed and found she could sleep a while with his comforting presence beside her, until the moon set and the werewolves made for Dracula's lair. And slowly, she had learned that while they were safely inside the manor, with her father standing by, there was nothing to fear.

And now here she was, tossing and turning once again and staring at the ceiling, and thinking once again of Velkan. She'd barely seen him since her ill-timed interruption in the courtyard yesterday, and every time she'd tried to talk to him since he'd ignored her. Anna had sat up in her bedroom with Petronela and the mending, seething and hurt.

A howl drifted up from the forest, miles distant, and Anna shivered, gathering her quilt tightly around her again. Here they were. She took a deep breath, thinking of her father, who would at this moment be sitting downstairs facing the barred front door, his silver revolver in his hand, lest they should break into the manor. It had never happened in living memory, but Boris was always prepared. Anna released her breath slowly, forcing herself to relax, but found she couldn't.

Truth be told, something else was bothering her about Velkan, and all this business with his training. Papa had always said his son would not start work until he was fourteen years old, and had stood by that until three weeks ago, when he'd suddenly changed his mind, and sent him to the courtyard two years early. There had been the attack.

In Anna's nine years she'd only glimpsed the vampires a handful of times through her window. They appeared like thieves in the night, snatching away anyone who had dared to venture outside, and vanishing as though they'd never been there. But, that overcast autumn day, she had been playing with Velkan in the market, a mad game of hide and seek in and out of the stalls, crouching under tables with the earthy smell of the produce for sale in her nose. Then there'd been a great beating of wings. She'd barely had time to look up when they'd appeared in the square, the brides' wings a whirl of colour as they landed beside the Count.

For a moment everyone had stopped and stared, astonished, then pandemonium had broken loose as the vampires had grabbed whoever happened to be closest. The brides had seemed delighted by the carnage they were creating, whooping with delight as they flew hither and thither. The gutters had run with blood, and Anna gagged as she remembered the cloying, metallic smell. She'd been hidden behind a stallholder's crates, but Velkan was caught out in the square. At first Anna had cowered where she was, sure her elder brother would come to himself and find cover, but as the seconds ticked by and he hadn't moved she'd realised she had to do something. Forcing herself up, she'd run over and tugged and tugged on his hand, sobbing with fear, but he wouldn't budge an inch. Finally, she'd dragged him bodily, using all her strength to get him behind the crate stack, and crouched beside him, peering through cracks in the roughly hewn wood, sure at any moment that they would be discovered.

The square was empty now but for the corpses of the unlucky ones, and Dracula had his arms around each of his women. They were speaking, but all Anna could make out was something about 'trying again' from Aleera's lips as she nuzzled her bright curls against the Count's shoulder. He held them for a long time, and Anna had felt so strange watching them standing so quiet, those who had caused such carnage but a few moments before. Then the Count had released them, and made a gesture towards the eastern mountains. The three stepped back, then spun in sickening circles and launched themselves into the air.

Anna had watched, hardly daring to breathe, as the trailing gowns and loud wingbeats had slowly faded away. Dracula had taken one last glance around him, a smile playing about his lips as he surveyed the scene, and looked about to follow his brides. Anna quietly sighed with relief, and then Velkan had shuddered convulsively, and as Anna had quailed, the crates had collapsed into the square with an echoing clatter.

Dracula spun around, and Anna, one hand on her brother's arm, looked straight up into his eyes. She'd known the two of them were finished, but as she'd realised this her fear had drained away, to be replaced by rage. How dare he attack by day, and harm unprepared villagers, when everyone knew vampires only came to them at night? Who did he think he was? She'd set her jaw and given him the Count the stubbornest glare she could muster, but the Count had just smiled.

"Well met, Princess Anna," he'd said, bowing as though she were any society lady, and then he'd sprung into the air and followed the brides.

Papa had been so relieved that the two of them were safe that he'd set them on his lap and held them to him for almost an hour before the servants persuaded him to let them be put to bed. But then when one of the villagers had told Papa how Velkan had broken their cover so foolishly, he'd decreed that her brother was to start his training right away.

And now here they were; Anna, who had been the one to keep her head that day, barred from learning to be a warrior, and it damn well stung to see her brother coming in every night and being able to stow his weapons in the armoury where she was not allowed to go; it hurt to hear him chattering nineteen to the dozen at the dinner table about the day's exploits, and more still when he refused to speak to her for ruining his sparring match. Why, any fool should have known to ignore a distraction like that, should have been so lost in the fight that he'd not even heard it – but Velkan had not.

Well, to hell with it. She would just go and tell him so. There was no one here to stop her this evening, and her brother's room was only across the gallery. She'd make him talk to her and hang the whipping if she were caught. Anna swung her legs out of bed and darted to the door, listening. Nothing. She tugged it back carefully, wincing in case the hinges creaked, but there was no sound. Velkan's door was across the gallery, shut tight.

Papa was downstairs in the entrance hall, some distance away, but sound carried in this house, so she'd need to be careful. Anna was considering how best to get across the gallery, when a cold breeze drifted around her legs, and she could feel the hairs rising. Now that was odd. All the doors and windows ought to be barred tonight!

Frowning, she went to the banister and peered over. Moonlight was spilling from the kitchen door across the Turkish rug downstairs. The breeze was coming from that way, so a window must be open somewhere too. Clutching the banister, Anna shifted from foot to foot, considering. She ought to find Papa and tell him, but then he'd know she'd been out of bed, and she'd never have a chance to speak to Velkan. But the kitchen door could not be seen from the entrance hall where Papa sat, and it would take her but a few moments to slip down, find the window, and shut it.

Anna went down the stairs on the balls of her feet, each movement carefully measured to be as noiseless as possible, even though her toes were numbing in the chilly air. She was at the bottom of the stairs before she knew it, and padding her way to the kitchens, her eyes darting about in case Papa had decided to move from his chair. Everything was still.

The long kitchen was bare, smelling strongly of dinner and the dogs, and it felt so strange bereft of its usual bustle of servants. She peered about her in the dim moonlight, and there it was. A shutter at the back was wide open. Shaking her head at the servants' carelessness, she padded across the carpet, reaching for it, when a crunch under her feet made her pause.

There was glass on the stone flags; the window was broken.

Anna bent, wincing, realising that she'd stepped into it, and her foot was bleeding. She sank down onto one of the benches, clutching her foot and silently cursing. How on earth was she to get back upstairs without leaving tell-tale bloodstains? The dog smell was growing stronger now, and Anna's heart suddenly dropped into her nipped toes. The dogs had been put in their kennels hours ago. And the window was broken, not left open. This was more than just carelessness. Anna made to rise, to go and fetch Papa after all, when a shadow rose across the window.

Oh God. Anna stumbled to her feet, her mouth opened in a silent scream. It was behind the great table, towering over her, steam rising from its nostrils in the cold night air. She could see the whites of its eyes in the moonlight, watching her as a cat might when it sees a mouse.

A werewolf had got inside.

Quaking, she took a step back, and another, and another, and the werewolf did not move. There was a trickling sound, her feet were damp, and Anna realised to her shame that she had wet herself. She whirled around, and threw herself across the kitchen as fast as she could, screaming for Boris. She could hear running footsteps from the entrance hall, and she was slamming the kitchen door behind her, and then there was a splintering sound as it was ripped from its frame, and something slammed into her head and she knew no more.

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 **Did you like?**

 **Many heartfelt thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the first time round. Hope you enjoyed the latest version and I'd love to hear what you thought.**

 **Seriously, reviews rock my socks. Please, everyone, let me know how you feel about this story!**


	2. Chapter Two

**And here is Chapter Two, my dears. Couple of line credits go to _Queen of the Damned_ (2002)and Elizabeth Kostova's _The Historian_. See if you can spot them!**

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 _Slap… slap… slap._

Anna was being carried over the cobblestones of Vaseria. There were voices in the distance; shouts. And it was cold, much too cold. Why was she outside in just her nightgown? The side of her head felt hot and sticky.

Blearily, Anna opened her eyes, and was almost sick. The werewolf was holding her high in the air, clamped tight against its shoulder, its velvety feet striking hard on the pavement. There was a sharp pain in her temple, and her head spun.

Who was shouting? She forced her head up and looked back to where Valerious Manor loomed over the village. Yes! There were lights on in the house, and she could see movement in the distance, and Boris's voice carrying across the dark streets. He was coming! Now if she could only let him know where she was, and he'd be there with the silver revolver and half the village to save her. Anna took a deep breath, and yelled with all her might.

"Papa!"

The werewolf had taken no notice of her movements till now, but at her call it put up a great clawed hand, clamped it across her nose and mouth, and squeezed till she felt her head would burst. Then it was snuffling at her, its hot breath on her hands, and suddenly her left arm was agony and she screamed and screamed and screamed.

When she next came to herself, the moon was far lower in the sky. She was still across the wolf's shoulder, and there was snow under its feet. This time she did vomit, hot liquid steaming as it hit the whiteness, but the werewolf didn't pause, loping faster than any man could run. Anna panted, her soiled nightgown freezing and clammy against her skin. They must be right up in the mountains now, for there was no snow yet in Vaseria. What was she to do? Papa hadn't come.

Anna tried to struggle, to see if the wolf would let her go, but it simply grasped her tighter, and she cried out as she felt her ribs bruise. No good there then. She could see in the moonlight that the wolf's thick black fur was ragged and uneven, and when she tugged at it gently – it ignored her – patches came loose in her hands. A young wolf then; for werewolves only shed before their first full moon. Heaven knew what it wanted with her though. A wolf that got inside usually rampaged like a fox in a henhouse, killing any they came across. At least, it seemed, this one hadn't got anyone in the manor.

Right. _Take stock of your situation before you do anything rash._ That's what Papa was always saying to Velkan. Gritting her teeth, Anna did the same. Her head was damaged from the blow the wolf had given her down in the kitchen, and gingerly she felt her temple, which was sticky with blood and a lump was already rising there, but it didn't seem to be bleeding. Her nightgown was torn above her left elbow, and the lower sleeve was soaked with blood. Numbness was spreading to her shoulder.

A terrified knot tightened in Anna's stomach as she realised the possibility, and couldn't bring herself to part the fabric to see if there was a bite mark. Anyone bitten and left behind in Vaseria Papa shot there and then with his silver revolver, kissing them on the brow before he did so. _Oh God, oh God, oh God._

She was shivering harder now, and found herself pressing close to the wolf's fur for warmth. Her stomach churned, and she shut her eyes for a good long time, biting her lips against the nausea. When it faded, she found the air on her face was warmer, and damp. Water trickled distantly, and when she looked up she found they were racing down some sort of tunnel. There were flickering lights ahead that hurt her eyes, but she kept them open, and then they were rocketing into a torch-lit, vaulted chamber.

The fug of wet fur was stronger here. Taking deep breaths, Anna looked up. Werewolves milled about inside. Anna had never seen so many in one place at once: dark ones, silver ones, ragged, just-turned cubs, and hardened, battle-scarred elders. Where was this? The one which held her suddenly grabbed the back of Anna's nightgown and hoisted her high in the air, and the surrounding wolves began to gather around, sniffing at her. Anna whimpered. There was only one place so many werewolves could live; Dracula's lair!

A loud crackling noise came up from the corner and the wolves drew back. Anna could make out a figure coming towards them, a strange, glowing metal rod in its hand.

"You were instructed to take your fill in the forest, not to bring pickings back with you." The wolf which held her hung its head at these words, letting her nightgown slip through its fingers so that she fell to the rush-strewn floor. Squinting upwards, Anna could see that the creature who'd spoken was twisted into deformity, yet he was evidently human, but Anna had never heard of any human being in league with Dracula before. She twisted her aching head to see him better, and he gave another growl when he saw that she was awake.

"And alive too? You know how it unsettles the others to have fresh meat so close at hand. Give it here and I will dispose of it." He was reaching for Anna when there was a screech from somewhere above their heads.

"Valerious!"

Anna's head jerked up at the sound of her name. There were hooded, shadowy creatures she couldn't really make out on a walkway, all wearing goggles, and it seemed to be one of them that had cried. The wizened man glanced up at them and then back at her. "It cannot be …" he hissed. He bent over Anna, grabbing her face and turning it this way and that. She whimpered as he crushed her bruises. He seemed not to notice, now tugging at her torn sleeve, surveying the injury there. Then he gave a nervous gulp and then began shouting orders to the gathered werewolves.

"Get everyone inside and bar the gates. He won't want anyone else leaving tonight. Well, move! Oh, look at the state of you." This last to Anna; the man had noticed her soiled clothing. "He'll want to see you and you can't go up like that. I know –"

He? Did the strange man mean the Count? She had little time to wonder, for the wizened man was dragging her across the room and had dropped her unceremoniously into a stone water trough. Anna gasped: it was freezing, but the man ignored her. He tore off her filthy nightgown and scrubbed her vigorously with a hard brush lying beside the trough, then he'd lifted her out again, rubbed her dry on an old blanket that smelt strongly of dog – well, wolf – and wrapped it tight around her. "Come on," he said, tugging at her hand, "we'd better go and see him."

But since the shock of the cold water Anna had grown too dizzy to stand, and tumbled back onto the floor, clutching her injured arm to her side. It was beginning to throb sharply now. The wizened man could go hang. She wasn't going to see anyone. "Oh for –" the wizened man swore, and then he hoisted her up onto his shoulder.

She was being carried down stone passages, and climbing stairs, the air growing warmer the higher they went. Her pulse was racing, sweat had beaded on her brow again, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. She remembered torchlight, a creaking door, and then a cold, mocking laugh that made her shudder.

"A Valerious, you say? How very unexpected. I could have the young gypsy prince as a pet. Why, Igor, this is exquisite, tell me – ah." Someone was bending over her, holding a candle to her face. The voice grew quieter, and much, much sharper. "How did this come to pass?"

"The youngster …" she heard, then something about, "must have been confused. Brought her back to play with. She should make the transformation before dawn." Anna felt her blood run cold. So it had bitten her then. And it was indeed the Count who was speaking! Oh, Lord, she was finished.

"She is not old enough to survive transformation. It's doubtful she'll last the night."

Anna forced her eyes open and saw a pale, dark-haired silhouette above her, but she couldn't focus, and the torchlight felt like someone had brought a hot poker to her forehead. She took deep breaths and then kicked out at the creature holding her as hard as she could.

"Put – me – down!"

The wizened man grunted in pain, there was a pause, and then the room was full of that dreadful laughter.

"So you are awake. Do you have any idea where you are?"

Anna narrowed her eyes against the light, but the Count remained nothing more than a pale blur. She steeled herself.

"Your – lair," she muttered.

The Count was chuckling. "I suppose that is one way to put it. Tell me then, girl, what did you see on your way here?" Anna felt cool fingertips on her forehead, and then found images from the night flashing before her eyes. She saw herself getting out of bed, the werewolf in the kitchen, then the awful, sickening journey to Dracula's lair, waking and passing out in the werewolf's arms. The fingertips withdrew, and she could see, blurrily, again, but her head was smarting worse than ever.

"Nothing of consequence, it appears."

What in God's name had just happened? The urge to vomit was coming back again and Anna took deep, gasping breaths. Her ears were beginning to ring. There were more voices but she could barely hear them.

"Go and fetch it."

"But Master, it may kill her anyway, and if that rogue one gets loose –"

"You think I am not aware of this? The moment you have handed it over you and the dwergi will begin concocting another – now go!"

Someone was passing her into another pair of hands, the door banged, making her wince with pain, and then she was being laid out on a rug, and a fire was crackling beside her. Shuddering, she opened her eyes, turning away from the light, and fighting to keep the world in focus. A dark patch was just ahead of her. The door! She couldn't walk, but maybe she could still reach it. Clutching her blanket around her she struggled to her knees and crawled. Just a little further… then that laugh returned behind her, and those same hands had caught her up again and were taking her back to where she had lain.

"Try that again and I will tie you there. Lie quiet."

Didn't he understand? She had to get home to Papa. But then if she got home to Papa, he'd have to shoot her with the silver revolver, and she could see the sadness in his eyes as her father steeled himself to do it – and then she was being covered in something dark and heavy. She could feel a cool silk lining under her fingers, with heavier cloth behind, and she curled into it gratefully.

A great sense of weariness came over her, and she remembered nothing until for a long time. Then someone was turning her head towards the flames again, and there was a clinking, metallic sound, and a sharp pain in her neck. She cried out, trying to push them away from her, but someone held her down, and she could feel a burning sensation spreading through her veins. It was growing dark, but she knew she couldn't fall asleep, not here in the Count's lair!

"You've been brave enough for one night, child. Let go."

Everything went black.

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 **Hope you liked. Reviews make my week so pretty pretty please leave one?**

 **Thanks so much to noivovaine, LovetheKlaroline, Remember, Anon E. Mouse and LadyEkatherinaDeMika for your wonderful Chapter One reviews. Seriously, you guys rule!**

 **Shout outs to FinnyTheFirst, WhisperedxNothingsx and jurib14 for favouriting this story!**


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